04 Apocalypse Unleashed

by Mel Odom

  Through the dust-stained, bullet-cracked window, Goose saw a wave of Syrian assault vehicles speeding toward them. The door gunners opened fire, and hot brass tinkled into the catchers. A Syrian T-62 tank muscled to the forefront of the array of vehicles. The main gun lifted to fire.

  Gordon fired a salvo of rockets from the ESSS that turned the Syrian line into a death zone. The tank remained functioning, though, shedding the flames easily. Before it could fire, two other Black Hawks arrived on the scene and targeted the tank. Rockets and missiles struck the tank repeatedly and left it in ruins.

  Rotors roaring, the Black Hawk screamed skyward. Goose stood in the doorway and watched as Harran fell away. Most of the town was in ruins. Black smoke clouds drifted up from battle zones and burning buildings.

  “It’s terrible, you know.” Miller stood at Goose’s shoulder. Behind him, Danielle and the cameraman were at work.

  “What?” Goose hoped they were out of range of small-arms fire.

  “That town had such a wonderful history.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It goes all the way back to the beginning of the Bible. After Adam and Eve were driven from the Garden of Eden, many biblical scholars believe this is where they came with their family.”

  The Black Hawk swept away from the city. Goose held on to the door. A line of Syrians had massed below and shot at the American helicopters, but the attempts went wide. In the next moment, a trio of Black Hawks peeled away from the group and returned to wreak havoc among the Syrians.

  A cheer went up from the Rangers on board the helicopter.

  “Christianity, Judaism, and Islam all have important roots in this area,” Miller went on. “Abraham lived here after he left Sanliurfa. His father, Terah, died here. Ongoing archaeological digs have found evidence of several civilizations and cultures in this town. Even the name has significance. Loosely translated, it means ‘the road.’”

  “The road to what?” Goose asked.

  “To Damascus.”

  “The capital city of Syria?”

  Miller nodded.

  Goose mulled that over. “You think there’s any special significance about the Syrians trying to take it over?”

  “Everybody’s fought in Harran.” Miller shook his head. “If you were able to open every grave that’s out there, where men have been buried or where the dead were simply left after a battle, you’d find Greeks, Romans, Babylonians, Assyrians, Egyptians, Parthians, and a dozen others. These lands all throughout Turkey and Syria have been hotly contested almost since God put man in this world.”

  “Doesn’t look likely to change, does it?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Goose tried to find a comfortable way to stand. His left knee continued to ache fiercely, and the pain echoed inside his skull. He knew things weren’t going to get any better once they got back to Sanliurfa. The Syrians had gained a toehold in southern Turkey. They’d pull their forces together, get everyone healthy and their equipment squared away, and then mount another offensive to try to take Sanliurfa as well.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Danielle was continuing to report. She interviewed some of the soldiers standing around her. Given the restricted confines, the Rangers were shoulder to shoulder with her, but Danielle held her own. The cameraman struggled harder to find room to use his equipment.

  “You people hold on to whatever you can,” Captain Gordon called over the PA in the cargo area. “We’re going to be running nap-of-theearth on the way back to Sanliurfa. Try to stay out of the sky in case the Syrians light up some of the SCUD missiles they’re packing in by truck. With the heat and the thin air, the ride’s going to be a little bumpy.”

  As he finished talking, the Black Hawk hit a thermal, bounced up into the air a few feet, and swung side to side. Gordon leveled his craft off again, holding steady some thirty to forty feet above the ground. The landscape sped by dizzyingly.

  Fingers numb from holding the doorframe, Goose reached for a new hold. When he did, he caught sight of a familiar face standing beside him.

  Icarus.

  27

  United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Local Time 0809 Hours

  Captain Cal Remington immediately recognized the man standing next to Goose in the Black Hawk as Icarus, the rogue agent CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody was pursuing. The captain took in a calm breath and let it out.

  Icarus was dark-complexioned and looked like he was in his early twenties. His dark hair was longer than in the photographs Cody had shared with Remington. A five-o’clock shadow colored his chin and cheeks. Beneath thick black eyebrows, Icarus’s hazel eyes looked haunted and feverish.

  Remington didn’t know where Icarus had gotten the army Ranger BDUs he wore, but he’d obviously worn them so he could blend into the exfiltration effort.

  According to Cody, Icarus was a covert agent they’d managed to get into one of the terrorist cells inside Turkey. He was an American, not a Turkish or Syrian that the agency had managed to flip. Remington had exhausted his resources trying to find out Icarus’s real name. The captain had the distinct impression that whatever intel had existed on the young undercover operative had long since been expunged.

  And now it seemed Cody had been right about Icarus trying to get in touch with Goose. But why? What made Goose Gander so important? That puzzled Remington—and irritated him—to no end.

  Goose looked exhausted. Beneath the dirt and blood on his face, he appeared ready to fall over.

  On the television screen, Goose and Icarus wavered into and out of the background, talking together as Danielle Vinchenzo interviewed some of the Rangers regarding their rescue as well as the effort put forth by the Black Hawk pilot and crew. There was no way of guessing what the conversation was, but neither man looked happy.

  “Captain Remington,” Josh Campbell said.

  Remington turned to the reporter and was instantly framed in the camera. It was bad timing. The captain wished they’d stayed back.

  “I’d like to congratulate you on your success in getting your people out of Harran,” Campbell said. “My associate Danielle Vinchenzo is still interviewing Rangers aboard the helicopter that rescued her.”

  “Thank you,” Remington said. “But we’re not out of the woods yet.” He realized that was something Goose would have said—had, in fact, said—during similar occasions. Remington hated that he was mimicking Goose, but Goose always looked good on camera—plain, soft-spoken … and humble. Always humble.

  Officers aren’t supposed to be humble, Remington told himself.

  “What do you think the Syrians are going to do now?” Campbell asked.

  “Regroup. Refortify. Secure those positions. Then get ready to march into Sanliurfa.”

  “You sound certain of their intentions.”

  “It’s what I would do.” Remington glanced around furtively. Cody was no longer at his side. The CIA section chief had stepped away and was talking on a sat-phone. And keeping an eye on him. When their gazes locked, Cody folded the phone and put it away.

  “You’ve got a reputation for being an aggressive military leader,”

  Campbell stated.

  “I’d like to think that’s well earned.”

  “The American military position, of late, has been particularly aggressive in the pursuit of terrorism. You’ve been a big proponent of acting first in several highly publicized incidents.”

  “Even before the disappearances,” Remington said, “we were facing a new world. The United States has become a target to many terrorist factions. You don’t get anywhere in this life by lying back and letting someone kick sand in your face.”

  “Do you think you can hold Sanliurfa against the Syrian army?”

  Grimly aware that the broadcast feed was going out live, Remington kept his poker face on. “I’ve been ordered to hold this city against hostile incursion. Until I’m ordered to do anything else, that’
s what I’m going to do. The Syrians have attacked before, and we held them.”

  “Pardon me for pointing this out, but the Syrian forces that attacked earlier weren’t as prepared as the reinforcements staging in Harran are going to be. If the Syrian army starts pulling SCUD missiles into that town and launching from there, isn’t that going to be tremendously different from what you’ve faced in the past?”

  “That depends on whether the Pentagon chooses to allow the Syrians to build up arms in that area.” Remington shook his head, still wondering what Cody had been up to. The captain was certain the CIA agent had recognized Icarus as well. “I’m not in favor of allowing the enemy to strengthen its position.”

  “Surely you’re not talking about attacking the Syrians in Harran after you’ve retreated from there.”

  “Not retreated,” Remington said. “Repositioned. Soldiers are more important than hardware in a battle. I needed those men here. I didn’t need them lost.”

  “Sir,” Archer called. The lieutenant stood looking over a computer tech’s shoulder at one of the monitors. A worried expression filled his face.

  Remington made a mental note to discuss wearing his feelings on his sleeve in front of the media. He told Campbell, “Excuse me.”

  “Certainly. OneWorld NewsNet looks forward to speaking with you again.” Campbell stepped back.

  Remington immediately regretted losing the camera. He liked the attention focused on him. He crossed to Archer. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got a bogey in the field, Captain,” Archer said in a low voice.

  Remington automatically scanned the sky but didn’t see anything. Then he noticed the two Land Rovers streaking across the open terrain headed south. They were off-road, traveling too fast for the broken countryside.

  “Who are they?” Remington demanded.

  “We don’t know, sir.”

  “Can you tighten the view on them?”

  The computer tech rapped the keyboard with his fingertips. The view on the television monitor zoomed in on the two SUVs racing south toward Harran.

  “When did you pick them up?” Remington asked.

  “Just now.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “The road.” Archer moved to another computer. “Roll back the sat-feed a couple minutes,” he instructed the tech.

  Remington divided his attention between the two computer monitors. He glanced at Cody, but the CIA section chief was keeping his distance. On the second monitor, Remington watched as the two SUVs sped along the road. At 0809 hours, by the time-date stamp at the bottom of the screen, the SUVs suddenly altered course and went cross-country.

  What had caused them to veer off the road? Cold dread twisted through his stomach as suspicion took root in his mind. The Land Rovers hurtled along like predators with the scent of prey in their nostrils. Going top speed like that, they weren’t hunting anymore. They were moving in for the kill.

  Remington focused on the first monitor. “Pull back the view on those SUVs.”

  The computer tech started doing that. “How far, sir?”

  “I want the bogeys and the Black Angel squadron on-screen at the same time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Captain,” Archer called. He was pointing at the monitor where the focus was on Harran. “The Syrians had SCUDs in some of the supply trucks. They’re setting them up.”

  Curiosity fled Remington as he took in the new threat. The Syrians hadn’t come prepared just to take Harran. They’d also come to unleash destruction on Sanliurfa. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was something he would have done.

  The UN commander standing nearby cursed. So did the Turkish commander.

  “Sound the alarms in the city, Lieutenant,” Remington snapped. “Put everyone on red alert.”

  “Yes, sir.” Archer turned away, already giving orders to get it done.

  The warning cry of the alarm Klaxons ripped through the morning.

  Remington felt uneasy. The command post was safe enough against SCUDs armed with high explosives, but biological weapons— or nuclear, if it came to that—were a different story.

  Most of the people had cleared out of the city streets once the attack began in Harran. Everyone had known that it could spill over into Sanliurfa.

  “Captain,” the computer tech said, “I’ve got the Black Angels and the bogeys on-screen.”

  Remington studied the monitor. He wasn’t surprised to see the Land Rovers were headed straight for the helos. He turned from the computer and headed over to Cody.

  The CIA section chief stood his ground.

  “Are those your men?” Remington snarled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cody replied.

  “I’m talking about those two Land Rovers on an intercept course with my helos.”

  “No,” Cody replied flatly.

  Remington knew the man was lying. There were no tells, no mannerisms, and no voice inflections to give the falsehood away. But nothing else made sense.

  “What are you after?” Remington asked.

  Cody hesitated. “Believe it or not, Captain, the same thing you are.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Captain Remington,” another lieutenant called, “we’ve just confirmed multiple Syrian launches. We’re tracking eleven SCUDs in the air. All of them are headed for us.”

  Remington returned to the computer tech. “Tell the Patriot missile systems to engage when they’ve got target lock. I don’t want any of those blasted things getting through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Remington looked again at the helo squadron and the Land Rovers. “How far away is Black Angel squadron?”

  “Almost fifty klicks, sir.”

  “How close are the bogeys?”

  “Five-point-eight klicks.” The corporal sat up straighter. “The bogeys have stopped, sir.”

  Remington saw that for himself. The vehicles had stopped in tandem. Doors opened and ten men deployed.

  “Zoom in,” Remington ordered.

  The corporal did.

  When the magnification was great enough, Remington saw the weapons two of the men carried were rocket launchers. The Black Hawks didn’t create enough heat to draw heat-seeking ordnance, but when they were flying only thirty or forty feet off the ground, a regular rocket launcher could bring them down.

  If they weren’t expecting to be attacked.

  “What’s the ETA on the Black Angels intercepting those bogeys?”

  “A minute fifty-two seconds.”

  “Open a channel to them.”

  “You’re connected, sir.”

  “Black Angel Leader, this is Base,” Remington said.

  “Go, Base.”

  “Alter your course to the west. I repeat, alter your course to the west immediately. You’ve got hostiles on the ground you need to avoid.”

  “Roger that. Changing course.”

  “Redirect to the north end of the city. Use the airfield there.”

  “Understood, Base.”

  Tensely Remington watched the screen. He wasn’t completely surprised when the men loaded back into the Land Rovers and took off again, headed once more on an intercept path with the helos.

  They’re tracking them electronically. Remington knew it had to be true, but he didn’t know how it was being done.

  “Black Angel Leader, this is Base. Be advised that the hostiles are tracking you. They know you’ve changed directions and are coming to meet you.”

  “That’ll be their mistake, then.”

  Remington turned back to Cody, but the CIA section chief was already beating a hasty retreat through the front door.

  For just a moment Remington considered ordering security to detain him, then realized it wouldn’t help. Either the helos would survive the attack or they wouldn’t.

  “Incoming!” someone shouted.

  Then the first of the SCUDs reached Sanliurfa and detonated.

&
nbsp; 28

  Black Angels Squadron

  Turkish Air Space

  Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

  Local Time 0809 Hours

  “What are you doing here?” Goose growled. He dropped his hand toward the M9 on his hip.

  “I came to see you.” Icarus talked only loud enough that Goose could hear him. They stood chest to chest, banging into each other as the Black Hawk slid and shifted through the wind. The younger man’s hazel eyes regarded Goose and never looked away.

  “Why?”

  “Because Corporal Baker is dead.”

  Goose felt suddenly chilled. “What do you know about Baker’s death?”

  “I know it was ordered,” Icarus said.

  “By Remington?” Goose couldn’t believe he’d put his fear into words. After Baker was killed, Goose had wondered if the captain had had anything to do with it. He hadn’t wanted to believe that, but the possibility existed.

  “No.” Icarus seemed so sure of himself, so calm in the middle of everything that was going on.

  Goose looked at the other man and tried to figure out what to say next. He was still overwhelmed from the events in Harran and from the night before. He still didn’t know why Remington had chosen to take the hard road with him.

  “I need to talk to you,” Icarus went on. “There’s a choice that will need to be made. Soon. You must understand what’s going to be asked. And why.”

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  “Because you’re in a place where your actions will affect others. You’re a leader.” Icarus hesitated. “Now that Baker is dead, perhaps you’re the only leader who can open the eyes of the men around you and keep them from selling their souls in the service of evil.”

  The words caused Goose’s flesh to prickle despite the heat of the day. Icarus talked about evil with a capital E, and his words brought to mind dark things blacker than night.

  “I know you’re not going to want to believe all of this, Sergeant.” Icarus was too young to look as tired as he was. “I wish that I had more time to convince you of what I’m saying. But our enemy has planned too well.”